Fity - One
by Arkson Colegrad
Summary: Jack Ryan and Area 51. A sequel to 'WTC'
1. Default Chapter

51  
by Zak Cole  
  
  
  
Prologue: Remembrance  
  
Jack Ryan was in the Oval Office, looking over recent satellite photographs of the World Trade Center site. Ryan was still coping with what had happened. Four weeks earlier, America had been attacked, an attack that was far more devastating than the events of December 7, 1941. On September 11, 2001; planes had crashed into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, terrorists ran through the streets of Manhattan on a killing rampage, and the V- POTUS, or Vice President of the United States, had been brutally assassinated. Ryan, Robby Jackson and the new V- POTUS, Ezekiel Thames, had flown right into NYC, trying to save Jack's wife, First Lady Caroline Ryan, who had been the main target of the attacks. Their only luck was that no more attacks had been made, and that after President Roger Durling had been killed in the Capitol building, the security of Washington had toughened, even more so after the attack on the Pentagon.  
  
  
CHAPTER 1:  
  
  
Ryan heard a knock on the left door to the Office, and called the visitor in. Zeke Thames stepped into the room.  
"What is it?"  
"Jack, stuff is going on. We've been getting called 24/7 about the safety of the nation, and you haven't said a thing to the public."  
"I've been busy."  
"Sure, and I'm not." He paused and sighed. "I'll leave this to someone else."  
"Zeke why are you here?"  
"I guess I was just checking up on a friend. Are you okay? It's Vice President..."  
"You're job now."  
"Don't avoid it, Jack. Any day I could run away and leave the Speaker of the House to step in." Jack looked up and smiled.  
"What is it?", Ryan said for the second time.  
"Well, you should visit ground Zero..."  
"When? Can I talk to the families?"  
"Look, I don't know." At that moment, the President secretary walked into the room, and handed Thames a piece of paper.  
"What?", Jack said, his voice weary.  
"You'll be busy as hell today."  
"Like what?"  
"From what she just handed me, you'll be meeting with the guy who saved both of our asses."  
"Trent Easton, NSA head?"  
"Yes."  
"He saved my life two years ago, Zeke."  
"Mine, too. Okay, Ben Goodley, your...?"  
"National Security Advisor."  
"Right. Said this morning that after you give that speech", Thames paused for Ryan to moan, "you're going to Area 51."  
"What?"  
"You'll be meeting with the NSA head", Ben Goodley said as he opened one of the doors. "You'll be meeting with him in a hour. Cheer up, Jack, maybe you'll learn how to fly a saucer." And with that, Jack Ryan's National Security Advisor left to finish arranging the schedule for the president's day.  
  
  
Two hours and fifty- one minutes later, Trent Easton walked past the China Room, and was thinking about his presentation to Jack Ryan.  
What should I say?  
What the cards tell me to, dummy. He won't last long.   
At the entrance of the O.O., he was thoroughly searched, and was cleared. As Easton approached the door, he motioned for his presentation team to follow. He was patted down a second time, and the intimidating, white door was opened. The president stood up, and shook hands with him.  
  
  
"Hello, Mr. President." Jack motioned for Trent to sit before he began his mini- letchure, along Trent was older than himself.  
"Trent, before I got 'elected', before I was the National Security Advisor, I was a pretty normal guy. Four years ago I was in Maine to help stop a corrupt chemical company. you know this, you were there. Some mercenaries from the company tried to take us down by flooding the town, flooding it with contaminated water. You got me out, you got Zeke out, and a lot of others. You're a hero." Ryan skipped a beat, and continued; "By the way, in here, the name's Jack." Ryan saw the confused look on the NSA Director's face. Actually, he was not in surprise at all, but Ryan did not know that., Jack explained.  
"It's something I do." Easton didn't know how to respond, and just ignored the lecture.  
"Ready for some classified history?"  
"Area 51?" Back to business, Jack.  
"That's my question: is it real?" Like most government agents, he believed that all of the "conspiracy theories" were bluffs by the government to distract citizens or the occasional fanatic.  
"You'd be surprised. They really helped us out in the Second Persian gulf War last year."  
"You mean... no aliens?" As way of reply, Trent laughed until he became short- of- breathe.  
"Jack, try not to feel stupid. Most people don't even know about it. Ever since '62, when the Kennedy's stopped Majestic 12..." Instantly, Jack's hands shot up as if to block a punch.  
" Look, I don't care what Hollywood says, I really don't want to hear about conspiracy theories."  
" I don't believe that one, either. I know it was the Cubans..."  
"Jesus H. Christ ! Okay, I have one question. What does all of this have to do with September 11?"  
"Jack, I'm not the right person to ask. It has something to do with that, because your SecDef is the one who told me to brief you."  
"Okay. When am I going?"  
"How the hell would I know?" Easton walked to the right- side door, and four nameless NSA and Secret Service agents entered the room, where they promptly searched for bugs ( out of habit and security). When they were finished, one closed the shades, turned off the lights, and brought in a projector.  
"Trent, there is a movie room down the hall..."  
"Ryan, shut it. We've only got twenty minutes." POTUS leaned back in his chair, and protested no more.  
The movie started ten seconds later. The first image to appear on the screen was a date: May 14, 1947.  
"What's this about?", Ryan asked.  
"It's an important date. Just watch." The image then changed to an airplane, what looked like a very old aircraft by it's model.  
"This", Easton began, " is a small passenger aircraft, at the Leningrad Airport. On June 30, this airplane left, unsheculded, from this airport. The next afternoon, it was first detected on American radar, flying over California. From June 2 to June 4, the military monitored it's movements. On the early morning of July 4, a fighter pilot saw the plane, and seeing it's Soviet markings, he thought it was Pearl Harbor all over again, and jumped the gun. It crashed in a field in Roswell, New Mexico. It was discovered by a the farmer that owned the land. Well, he saw an eighty- foot crater in his backyard, and called authorities.   
"At first, we couldn't make the connection. we had lost radar detection with the aircraft before it had went over New Mexico, and all we knew was that something Soviet had crashed smack in the middle of America, and Jack, we basically freaked. We sent out two groups: the 509 bomb group and an agency called Majestic. We didn't know if it was a Soviet jet, a German atom bomb, or a goddamned alien UFO. We closed off the site, and also sent in the FBI and the U.S. Army. But, even before we told Truman, we told everyone that it was an UFO, then a weather balloon. The truth of the matter was it was an airplane, an airplane with eighteen Soviet defectors scattered to peaches around it."  
"We didn't know what to say to the Russians. After all of the confrontations between them and us, we thought that it would be bad if we told them that we had shot an airplane full of their citizens, defecting or not. After that, we came up with the UFO story, then the weather balloon, mainly because it was closer to the truth."  
" FBI decided that the documents should be classified for sixty years. I think that was a record for the U.S. government. That means that all hard evidence pointing to the truth, expect for the video that we showed you, was burned decades ago." With that, Easton sat back down.  
"So, that's the story of Roswell?", asked Ryan.  
"Yeah. But, I never said anything about Area 51. Roswell started it."  
"Tell me."  
"Jack, don't have the time. We'll finish this "chat" when you drop by." Easton prepared his group to leave, but Ryan stopped Trent.  
"yeah?"  
"I was just wondering: why are you telling me this, and some general?"  
" because the head of the NSA is also the Director of Area 51. See ya, Jack."  
"Yeah." Easton left, and the president sat back in his chair, waiting for his next appointment.  
  
  
Five men of Middle eastern features and heritage at a New York hotel was frowned upon. After the Attacks On America, people unconsciously began to discriminate against Arabs and Muslims. If it was not a verbal or physical insult, it was a dirty look an American Caucasian gave to someone who was different. This would of bothered any man of Middle Eastern origin, even more so for men that knew that they should be feared and hated.  
Many terrorist had "visited" the United States on September 11, and these men were on the same mission, although it was different in many ways. For the men involved, their mission would be far grander in it's effects than the previous ones, or so they thought.  
Thankfully, they had recently moved to a much smaller motel in upstate New York. Of the five involved in the operation, only two were present in the motel. Their names were Muhammad Aumm and Jerrizaa Laddbin.  
"How was your day?", Aumm asked in an uncharacteristic tone.   
"It was strange. Today, I used a pay phone. I also found out that these Americans charge their own people for leaving the state!" as Laddbin was saying this, Aumm felt that it was time his friend of American ways.  
"Jerrizaa, you seem to be forgetting one thing. In Afghanistan, you must have papers to leave."  
"True, Aumm, but... I hate these Americans! The way they spend money, the way they all have cars, the way they are ignoring countries that are in greater need than themselves!"  
"I agree, Jerrizaa. But, you know that their country, as a direct result of our actions, will go into a devastating lapse. That will lead to their collapse."  
"Yes, Aumm." 


	2. 2. Area 51 is so nice...

CHAPTER 2:  
  
  
The next morning, Ryan woke much earlier than usual.   
Even for a president.  
"What the hell is going on, Tony?"  
"Mr. President, as your Secretary of Defense, I'm the one who has to tell you that you're going to Area 51."  
"Now?" I need some aspirin.  
"Your chopper is waiting, and it has orders to lift- off in fifteen minutes. It's hard to have that thing out there for too long without someone, especially the newsies, noticing it."  
"Does my family know?"  
"About your trip? Hell, no! Easton, Arnie Van Damm, me and agent Price. That's it."  
"Okay, it'll be out in fifteen minutes."  
  
  
The helicopter lifted off from the South Lawn of the White House with as little noise as possible. In it were Ryan, along with his chief bodyguard, his Secretary of Defense, and Ryan's National Security Advisor.   
"Mr. President", Beranto said, " we will arrive at the Area 51 base in about four hours..."  
"What does this have to do with September 11? I asked Easton, but he wouldn't say a damned thing."  
"Good, he's not dumb after all. You know about Usama Bin Laden?"  
"CIA was ding an investigation of his group in '91, when I was DDI. Was he behind this whole fucking thing?!"  
"Cool it, Mr. President. We have four tapes, sent to Langley yesterday, all say the same thing. We'll release them... maybe."  
"I'll sign for that. But what does me going to Area 51 have to do with all of this?"  
"sir, you probably don't know this, but Area 51 is the top facility for military tactics, way higher than the Pentagon. We have some plans to... well, you'll have to follow me." Sec Def stood up, and Jack followed him as he moved to different seats. When Tony spoke next, in was in a voice that Jack could barely hear.  
"Joint chiefs have a plan that they want to present to you. It's to... bomb Afghanistan." Jack's head snapped forward, and Ryan stared Beranto in the eyes.  
"I am NOT authorizing an attack! Fowler tried, and I won't do the same! Anyway, we couldn't send enough nukes over there, remember? We're trying to dismember those." Tony ignored the sarcasm, and continued.  
"Did I say 'nuke the place'? What I meant was that we could target paticlaur Taliban areas, and destroy them." the president did not answer, just looked out the window of the oversized black helicopter.  
  
  
None of them knew what was inside the container.  
They were in the slums of Moscow, a frightening and disgusting thing for the men to behold. Until 1991, the year of the Soviet Unions collapse, citizens that saw the homeless in the streets or alleys were encouraged to report them to the proper authorities. Usually, the drunks were executed. Most in the Union pretended that the only homeless ones were the drunks.  
This of course, was not true. Russia, being a communist country, had a difficult time doing trade with most countries. They could, but it was almost always limited.   
This made them a very poor country. Although there all thousands of housings that are vacant, they are almost all too expensive for the average Russian. So, many became drunks. These were the targets of the terrorists, although they didn't know it.  
The group contained a Californian man named John Walker, two former KGB (or Committee for State Security) officers, and another terrorist from America named Derek Fyfe. They cared not what was in the thermal, only that they would get their $35, 000 that had been promised.  
They each opened up their canisters, and filled it's powdery substance into the nearest, still- full beer bottles. They each left, having no idea about what they had just done.  
  
  
"Aumm, today I went to an American market."  
"And did you like it, Jerrizaa?"  
"Yes, very much so. Perhaps these Americans are not so bad, after all."  
"But, they give no money to places in need, like our homeland."  
"You are right, Aumm. I was foolish to think so. Anyway, Queda and Bantaili are preparing for the mission. Do you think the others in Moscow had similar success?"  
"Time will tell, my friend."  
  
  
The man's name was Kiev Kredivich Roranov, his name coming from his birthplace that was now Ukraine. He had been born in 1950, at the height of the Cold war. By the time he was thirty, he was chief of the Kiev KGB policing unit. But the darkest day of his life had come in 1992, when the KGB had collapsed. as with many former government agents, Roranov was not welcome in the new Russian intelligence agency (the SRV), and was then deported from his homeland in Ukraine because they no longer wanted communists in their mists. So, he had wandered Belarus, Lithuania, where he had wedded, only do see her die in a skiing accident days later. After that, he had snuck back into Russia. When he had trouble finding an apartment, he spent the night sleeping in hijacked cars, ehick Roranov had rarely seen before.  
Russians are known internationally as tolerant drinkers, for their national drink was vodka. But, Roranov had been a light drinker, and when he started to indulge in both strong vodka and American beer, he quickly became a homeless drunk.  
It is not a good to be a homeless person in Russia. It is bitterly cold year- round, and Kiev often found friends dead in the snow, sometimes frozen solid inside a dumpster. But now, Kredivich hardly cared. Every day, he had to steal money and food. All the money he used towards alcohol, and he drank so much that he often forgot to eat at all.   
Today, the beer tasted... different. It was the same beer that he had left in his sleeping area, but it tasted like chalk dust. Not caring, he drank the rest of his bottle, then fell asleep drunk.  
  
  
From above, Area 51 does not look like much. A few bunkers, and not much else. Ryan knew that this had to be misleading.  
The black presidential helicopter landed in the middle of the desert. The aircraft shifted, and the engines turned off.  
The president got out, and groaned.   
Today is going to be a shitty day, Jackie- boy. "I can't do this." His head was throbbing, and felt like vomiting. Four unmarked, black government cars were waiting for Jack Ryan and his entourage to enter. But they were impatient.  
"Mr. President, we have to move quickly. It's almost time."  
'For...?"  
"Satellite. If a commercial or foreign one catches the President of the United States of America heading towards Area 51, there would be hell to pay."  
"Okay." Jack got into the middle car, and it spun around, driving off.  
The road was paved, but had not been touched up in over ten years. This was mainly the result of the government buying a large portion of land around the Groom Lake dry bed.  
"When was this place built?", Ryan asked Tony.  
"After the Soviet airplane incident, we knew that an air base to detect Soviet airborne objects coming at us, and the test new aircraft. It was finished in 1959. It doesn't look like much on the outside, or anywhere above- ground. Almost all of it is 7 stories underground."  
"The Twin Towers are 7 stories above ground..."  
"What?"  
"Nothing. Do any UFO fanatics camp out around it?"  
"They would if they could. In '90, we bought a lot of land around Area 51, to make sure that we weren't being spied on. But, the Russians can now fly over it. Under treaty, of course."  
"No shit." That surprised 'Sir John'. This was a sure sign that the USSR was no more.  
"When will we be there?"  
" 'Bout an hour. Until then, I would get some rest. it's gonna be a busy day for you, Mr. President." Before Beranto could even finish that sentence, Ryan was asleep and snoring.  
  
  
He started to feel the first symptoms a week later. At first, he assumed that it was just the cold, but as it became worse, he felt that he needed to go to a hospital.  
On October 13, the drunk entered, intoxicated, a Moscow hospital. he walked up to the smiling nurse.  
"Can I help you, Comrade?" Even after a decade of capitalism, there were some things that Russians would do for years to come.   
"I... feel sick, real sick. Sick, sick, sick..." he rambled on, then became coherent again.  
"Excuse me, comrade?" the young nurse replied. He didn't speak English, especially Drunken English.  
"I need help from a doctor, you bitch!", he screamed in Russian.  
I have to keep my cool with this drunk, the nurse thought.  
"Do you have any papers?"  
"What?" He coughed.  
'Papers, do you have any?"  
"No."  
"You mean, 'you have no home'?" Take that, you slug head.  
"No!"  
"Then I am sorry, we can not help you here. It is the law of our country. But, I will give you something to help the pain." He fished through her trouser pockets, finally pulling out a small bottle of aspirin. He knocked it out of the pretty nurses' hand, and walked out of the door.  
He sneezed hard enough to make him trip on the icy ground.  
I need another drink.  
  
  
Little did Kiev Kredivich Roranov know that all over Western Russia, twenty people had all ready died of what had been identified in their autopsy reports as phenomena. Among these were citizens of St. Petersburg, Rzhe, Velikiy Novgorod and Tver. Out of these, one morgue officer in Velikiy Novgorod decided to run a check on diseases, among them Smallpox, Hoof and Mouth (you never know, he thought) and Anthrax, using new equipment.  
The test results took a while to test for, but they came in.  
"Negative for Hoof and Mouth, negative for Smallpox... what the hell?" The paper dropped to the floor, and his hands began to shake. "Anthrax, in Russia?", the man asked himself.  
The components of Anthrax can be naturally found, mainly in and around dead animals. It is estimated that many victims of Anthrax, mostly farmers, contracted the virus from their livestock.   
But in Russia? He collected his senses, and called the front desk.  
"Nurse, I need to ask you something. Has anyone feeling sick come into the hospital on your watch?"  
"Not that I know of. Why?"  
"There is a major health hazard here in Russia. I just found out that a man named Saragey Gerishnov died of Ancillis Bachillis... Anthrax."  
"The natural form?"  
"No, most likely military- grade."  
"Could it of been a factory?" She knew what had happened in 1979.  
"No, I don't that. You must send a message to as many hospitals as you can, let them know to check all patients for Anthrax. Clear that with the proper authorities, and hurry!"  
"Yes, Comrade Morgue Officer."  
  
  
"... time will tell." Aumm finished his speech. "Have you prepared the letter?"  
"Yes."  
"And were you careful?"  
"Very much so, Aumm."  
"Good. Send two today. The others can wait."  
"Yes. I will be a moment." Jerrizaa got up, and walked towards the bedroom. He was excited, adrenaline pored through his veins. He put on latex gloves, and carefully picked up the letter.   
As he walked towards the nearest mailbox, he made sure that no one saw him along the way.  
  
  
The entrance to Area 51 wasn't glamorous by any means. There were four armed officers at the gate, but that was where the human security ended. The three others cars following POTUS had veered off during the ride, one containing all of his staff. This tour was met for Ryan only.  
An old fence blocked the one real ground entrance, and on it was a grimy sign that read: DEADLY FORCE PERMITTED BEYOND THIS POINT. NO PHOTOGARPHY ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.  
Discreetly covering the surrounding hills were camouflaged cars, whose only purpose was to kill any unwelcome visitor that had somehow passed the motion sensors and infared cameras. Ryan got out of the stretch automobile, only to be pushed back in.  
"what?"  
"Can't risk going out there now. wait a minute." This came from one of the guarding officers. The gates opened, and Ryan's car drove into a place that never existed.  
Also all of it was underground, as Jack had suspected. The only thing of importance above ground were a dozen hangers, half of which were decoys.  
As Ryan's door was opened, he saw an airplane flying right towards the area, aiming right for his car. 


	3. Anthrax at the Senate building

CHAPTER 3:  
  
  
The mail, Aumm later decided, should be delivered to their targets through more unconventional means. With some difficulty, Jerrizaa retrieved the letter from the mailbox, once again donning latex gloves: 'The real gloves or crooks'. He brought the letter back to the air- controlled room, were Muhammad Aumm was waiting.   
"Where are the others?", asked Laddbin.  
"Out."  
'When will they be back?" Aumm's muscles tensed, and he reached for his gun...  
"Maybe when they..." The gun came out in an instant, so fast that Jerrizaa had no time to react. Aumm squeezed off one round.   
He tried to move. It was as if he were underwater, very deep underwater. By the time Laddbin realized that Aumm was going to shoot him, the bullet was already heading for his chest.  
  
  
Kiev knew that he was on his way to death, and a very painful death it would be.. Kredivich had tried to reach the hospital twice, but both times he had fallen, and could not continue his journey. Now, the drink was his only real comfort. He had no idea that this bottle was contributing to his death, for two reasons. One: The alcohol was defeating most of the body's attempts to fight against the foreign invader, and that this bottle, as the last four had been, contained a small amount of military- grade Anthrax ( it's deadliest form). From the time that Roranov had first felt the symptoms, he was a corpse that had not yet been given his death certificate.  
  
  
The bullets hit Jerrizaa with a thud! The 9mm rounds blew right through his body , exiting , it's final resting place the wall. Laddbin looked at Aumm, unbelieving look in his eyes, for a few long seconds before falling on to the ground with another thud! Muhammad Aumm started the process immediately.  
Aumm dismembered the body with no grief. the hardest part had been, he reflected, killing his friend. Just as hard had been killing his other teammates, but it was nessacary.   
Aumm had shot Jerrizaa three times, although the first had proved fatal enough. But, it had been his direct order to shoot three times: twice in the chest, and one final shot delivered to the temple of the forehead.  
Every part of this process involved blood. Contrary to Hollywood movies, chest wounds created only a small amount. But, a shot to the head had turned his fellow terrorist's face into a pink mass. There was plastic covering on the floor, just to make the clean up easier.  
Next came the actual dismemberment. He cut up the parts skillfully, and placed those in a plastic bag. he next made sure that there were no traces of his existence.  
He snuck out of the window, and drove the car onto the rugged back road. He drove for about an hour, until he found the gorge.  
There it is. He drove it until it was near the edge, then carefully got out. He pushed it over the edge, and watched it tumble down the gorge's side, until it hit the water with a noise that even Aumm could here, 100 ft. overhead. He then walked away from the gorge, which now contained the body of one Jerrizaa Laddbin.  
  
  
Adrenaline rushed through Ryan's body at a fast rate, and his mind instantly began to examine the situation. He pushed one guard aside, then turned to a Marine standing by.  
"Is it going to crash?"  
"What are you talking about, Mr. President?"  
"The damned plane!" That's when Trent Easton headed towards him, followed as Ryan was by the guards.  
"Mr. President, you'll enter Area 51 shortly." It was coming closer now, heading directly for him, Trent and the others.  
"He have to move, NOW!!!" Everything he said was that of the Marine he had once been.  
The Director of the National Security Agency is one of the most powerful people in government. Though Hollywood often depicts the CIA as the ultimate security agency, it was a little known fact that the NSA had more manpower, authority, and funding. Of course, all of their agents still spent most of their time listening to phone calls.  
None the less, Easton felt he had the merit to laugh in the face of the president of the most powerful country in the world.  
"What is it, goddammit!" POTUS felt as if he was about to die, and no one gave a shit.   
Jack, get out of there, now. Now! He was about to when Easton spoke.  
"Mr. President, there is a hidden runway a little northwest of here. That aircraft is flying in employees, and it also taxis the Pegisis, the new aircraft we're testing. It works well. Anyway, we couldn't have 100 or so cars suddenly drive out of a place that doesn't exist. You can thank Carter for that."  
"You said that nobody since Eisenhower..."  
"You got it, Doctor, but many a president has make a decision that they don't know about to change something here. it's the way we work."  
"President Fowler, or Durling? What about George Bush?" Jack knew that the question would be avoided.  
"Classified, even for you. Sorry, Jack." With that, Easton led Ryan into the entrance of present- day Area 51.  
  
  
Aumm knew that the conventional American postal system, set up by Benjamin Franklin over two hundred years ago, would not suit his current mission. There was too much of a risk of a postal worker being contaminated, which would shift the public's eye away from his main target. He knew that the Taliban's operation in Russia was almost complete, and that his would be soon to follow.  
He decided on a tactic that could be very dangerous, but would have great rewards. Buying a convincing mailman's uniform from a local costume shop, he donned the usual U.S. postal service's baseball cap, and walked towards the government district of Washington, District of Columbia. He pondered on the meaning of the name as he walked.  
"Stupid Americans", he muttered to himself, but this time he grinned also.  
  
  
After September 11, security in most places heightened, especially if that place was in the area of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  
But, no one had considered mailmen. Out of all the pre- arranged plans and drills, no one had figured in a postman that would dare to enter a building of government. But, Muhammad Aumm had quite an excuse.  
  
  
When the Secret Service agents stopped him at the entrance to the Senate building, the Arab- looking man filled out the proper forms, and explained that normal mail delivering were temporarily banned after the Attacks on America. They verified this, and let the supposed mailman find his way through the building to the receivers of his mail.  
One was a combined letter to senators Allen Trent and Samuel Fellows. The other was named Tom Daschle, who planned to run in the next election, which would be shortly. Whereas neither Fellows or Trent really knew Tom Daschle, Al and Sam were a team. This surprised all who learned, for the simple fact that Trent was a homosexual and Fellows a dedicated Mormon.  
Luckily for Aumm, the two members of Congress were in Trent's office, discussing the political ramifications of the 9 - 1 - 1 ( as they were now being called by the media) attacks.  
"Yes?" Sam's head turned when the two heard a knock at the door.  
  
  
'I am a postal worker. I have mail." Aumm went on to explain, in detail, the false story. Congressman Trent opened the door, and took the letter.  
'Thank you", said Al. He took a look at the letter, and passed it to Fellows.  
"It's for you."  
"Really?" The return address was 'The 4th grade'. "What the hell? Now grammar school kids are sending me shit?" Sam shook his head. "Put that in the trash, will you, Al?"  
"Sure." Al took the letter band threw it into the trash can.  
Outside the room, Muhammad Aumm had given an identical letter to Tom Daschle.  
When he opened the letter, he found a card. It read: 'Enjoy the gift, PIG!' He opened the card, and white powder spilled onto the floor.  
  
  
"Senator, please remain calm".   
What the FUCK can I remain calm about when I'm holding Anthrax?!  
"I just got a letter... there's white powder inside..." There were some things that Daschle knew it was not, plain flour or cocaine.  
If this isn't a prank, I'm dead!  
"how did you receive the mail?" the secretary asked, alarm flooding into her voice. She had also received a letter.  
"A postman, I think he was wearing gloves..."  
"A postman?" She pressed another button on her phone, the one that sent a signal to the USSS force present in the building.  
"We have a possible contamination of the Senate building. Respond immediately. Evacuate."  
"Understood." As the Secret Service agent heard the message in his ear piece, he saw what appeared to be a postal worker, who was walking casually out of the building.  
"Son of a bitch!" Although the agent had not heard that a mailman was behind the delivery, the man had enough sense to notice that men of that sort were not common in the Senate building.  
"Stop, sir!" He would of said 'freeze', but he wasn't a cop.  
'Yes?", Aumm responded in his best possible American accent. It was not good enough.  
"What are you doing here?" As the USSS agent asked this, he whispered into his clip- on mike that a man had to be apprehended at the front entrance. Muhammad Aumm noticed this, and caressed the handgun in his U.S. mail toke bag.  
"Sir, I am placing you under federal arrest..." Surprisingly, Aumm could quick- draw faster than the agent. In one smooth motion, the firearm came out of his bag.  
The first shot missed, as was to be expected. Contrary to just about every Western movie ever made, very few men could quickly draw their gun, and at ten feet of distance, shoot. The primitive design of the 19th century pistol didn't help.  
But, Aumm was using an upgraded 9mm, known to leave the "big holes in yer head". His second shot, aimed at the chin, hit the spot with perfect accuracy. The bullet ripped through the lower chin, blowing the face apart, as with the recently deceased Jerrizaa Laddbin.  
I hope I make it, Aumm thought as he raced out of the building.  
  
  
The other Service agents did not jump at the noise. Trained to handle just about every situation, the 16 agents in earshot ran towards the area of the Bang!  
What they found was a fellow agent, he head missing altogether.  
"Get a medic!" one yelled hopelessly.   
  
  
Despite the times, Ezekiel Sean Thames was not exactly a busy Vice President. But, he did have to cover Ryan's ass while he was away, flying saucers.  
"What is the president's current condition?" This came from ABC's Barbara Snider.  
"Well", said Zeke, "he was checked over by his doctor yesterday, and the doc determined that the president has the flu. He too sick to do... well, just about anything" Zeke lied with grace.  
"Will you take over his duties for the time being? asked NBC's Jacob Sipco  
Dammit, I should of stayed in Raccoon Police.  
"He hasn't died, Jake. He's sick, but he'll probably be fine in a couple of days."  
"Mr. Thames, what about reports that President Ryan is not ill, that he..."  
Many things combined to what happened next.  
First, no one seemed to care that he was new at the post, only four weeks as the second most powerful man in the world.  
Second, he was stressed, as a result of many things. One was the failing relationship with his wife of six years, Jill Valentine/ Thames.  
Third, he didn't know what to say about Jack at that moment. Thames had a hard time fabricating answers on the spot. Anger flowed through his whole body, and under the makeup his face turned red. He balled his fist.  
"Goddammit!" The V- POTUS pounded his hand onto the podium, and he felt his arm come loose.  
Oh shit!  
No man who held office as president or vice president, since Franklin Roosevelt, had been a cripple. Some would argue that Reagan qualified, simply because of his battle with oltimer's. No one in the press knew of Thame's condition.   
Eleven months before, America had been attacked, but in a much different way. A suicide bomber had flown into the Capitol area, killing the president, and many others. But not many knew of Zeke's role.  
Thames had been there, as most of Ryan's friends had, to watch Jack become Vice President of the United States.  
As the plane had crashed, Ryan had been quickly taken to safety, whereas President Durling, and others, hadn't been so lucky.   
For Thames, most of it had been that nobody had really worried about a small town police officer. So, running to save Roger Durling, Thames had been crushed by a falling piece of concrete, which had severed his arm ( the right one, to be precise). 


	4. A fallen arm and a kidnapped President

CHAPTER 4:   
  
  
So, thirteen months later, the arm strap loosened, as an amazed Zeke watched as his arm hit the podium floor with a clank! , and the assembled press gasped.  
  
  
Area 51 is a very complicated place. Though numerous military installations are kept underground, this was almost completely so there. All of the above hangers were not connected to the underground levels, which made Ryan feel as if he was walking aimlessly into the core of the earth. If were not fore for the number 51 on all of the walls, Jack would of surely lost his way.  
Easton was next to him, explaining what every dent in the wall represented.   
"Nice place, isn't it?" Ryan had no guards, and the USSS was not allowed down in this area, or so he was told.  
'If you like basements."   
"I know exactly what you mean. Once I..." Easton purposely slowed his pace until he was almost behind Ryan. Then, he knocked the president unconscious.  
  
  
We should of caught him, one Secret Service agent thought. They had chased the man, alerting all the surrounding units. Still, he had not been captured. In the midst of a DC- style traffic jam, a wanted felon by the name of Muhammad Aumm had somehow escaped.  
'We need to tell the White House."  
"Yeah. If this guy can slip us, he could waltz into anyplace. Pentagon, White House..." There were over 50 agents storming the city, checking every single place, but it was basically a lost cause.  
"I will alert the units at the White House."  
"Affirmative."  
  
  
The arm was still lying there, and the Press Room invites were quickly rushed off, disappointing many newsies.  
"What was that?" one reporter was CNN asked his cameraman, Charles Bartlett.  
"Don't know", said Bartlett, "but that was a live feed. The whole country saw the Vice President's arm fall off."  
"It did always look stiff", the reporter joshed.  
"Yeah. Should we really run with this, man?"  
"We should run like hell."  
  
  
"I'm going to talk to him."  
"You know where he is right now, you can't just call him up!"  
"You know what everyone thinks! They think Jack tried to save the president. No one even knows that I was there. Jesus, I want Jack to have all of his glory. He should know about what happened in there". He jerked his thumb at the Press Room, it's doorway crowded with the media.  
"NO!!!", screamed Ryan's chief bodyguard, "not know." She skipped a beat, and decided to change tactics. "He is at a confidential location..."  
"Come on, Andrea! Give me the number to the president."  
"I'll call signals office." Price sighed, and walked towards the converted closet.   
  
  
Jack was dizzy now, and could not see four feet. He had been locked a storage closet by Easton, and Ryan was trying to figure out how that had happened.  
This doesn't make any sense.  
For all intents and purposes, Easton had no reason in Jack's mind to betray him. They had met four years ago, when Ryan, a normal citizen and owner of a small business, had met Easton when the NSA had called him in for advice. They had quickly become friends, and continued to do so even after Ryan became the National Security Advisor for President Durling. A few months later the incident at Thame's home had showed Easton's loyalty towards Ryan by saving his life when it would of been much easier to save his own... or maybe it was just to gain my trust. At that moment, Trent walked into the room.  
"And how are we feeling?" There was a mad grin on Easton's face, a clearly senile grin.  
"I know why you did it."  
"Did what?"  
"Why you saved my life." Thank you for falling into my trap, Trent. You must be as crazy as a mental patient.  
"I don't care to listen to you, Jack. I don't have the time for this. Freedom is soon to come. Not for you, though. Ha!." He turned, and simply left the small storage area.   
You blew it, Jackie- boy.  
  
  
"What do you mean: you can't reach Area 51?" Thames paced around the room, needing to talk to his friend. Opening the door was USSS agent Andrea Price/ O'Day, a woman who liked being considered one of the boys, and liked Zeke. He did not know that, of course.  
"What are the chances that we're going to reach him this week?" She smiled an impish grin.   
"I don't know, Mrs. O'Day..."  
"Andrea." I got him.  
"Andrea. You saw the arm thing."  
"The newsies are all over it. The Invisible - Armed Vice President. Has a nice ring to it." They both smiled, and Andrea advanced, skillfully and slowly. He saw the signal.   
Oh shit!, thought Zeke.  
"You know, I..." Andrea started, but was cut off by the ring of the phone in Thame's office. He reached over and answered, glancing at Agent Price.  
The call was from the president's Chief of Staff.  
  
  
Ryan now feared for his life. Even more frightening was that the President of the United States did not know how Easton had done it.   
I mean, the place is waist- deep in guards, and all of the electronical equipment. How did he do it, how did he take over Area 51? Ryan thought he knew the answer. Because this place didn't expect an attack from within.  
He saw the cell phone, cracked on one side but still intact.   
The first attempt to reach it was very painful. It was very far from his position, and when he tried to jump forward, he fell flat on his face. He crawled around the floor, still trying to reach it...  
The door was opened, once again, by the Director of the National Security Agency.  
" You know, Jack, you're making things very difficult." He sighed. "Fool." Ryan felt the anger coming again, and decided not to control it.  
"Why are you doing this. This should be impossible..."  
"Oh please, shut up, Jack." Ryan saw the gun come up, and almost saw the bullet come out, and hit POTUS' shoulder. He left Ryan, bleeding, on the cement floor.  
But he had not taken the cell phone.  
  
  
John Patrick Ryan's staff had not entered "51", merely went back to Washington. Among them was his Chief of Staff, Arnold Van Damm, who was doing the usual paperwork when the phone rang. Arnie answered his cell phone on the third ring.   
"Arnie?" Van Damm did not recognize the voice at first, but then he knew who it was.  
"Jack?"  
"Get down here!"  
"What?" He heard Ryan grown in pain.  
"Get down here, it's Easton!"  
"And? Jack, I know you like flying saucers, but..."  
"I'M FUCKING SERIOUS HERE, ARNIE!!!"   
If you're lying, Ryan...  
'Okay, what's going on?"  
"Easton has taken over Area 51." That was enough for Arnold. He froze, then hung up. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before calling the White House Signals Office.  
  
  
His name was Judson Potter, and he ran a restaurant called "Little Roswell Cafe", along it was not far from Groom Lake, Nevada. He also co- owned a web site iwanttobelieve.com, which specialized in showing their and other's UFO tapes, and produced live feed when they found something interesting enough.   
As he was attempting to fix the twenty- year old coffee machine, he got a call.  
"Yes?"  
"Jud, it's Harry." Harry was the other co- owner of the web site, and a fellow UFO buff. Whenever possible, he'd try to uncover "conspiracies" of the government by trying to tape various areas. "We're planning something big."  
"Like what?"  
"Like breaking into Area 51." Potter snorted, then realized that his friend was not kidding."  
"In the middle of the day? Harry, you're crazy! They'll kill you!"  
"Bullshit! I've trespassed a dozen times. They just arrest you, then release you the next day. They keep tabs on you, though."  
"What?!" Great!  
'Forget I said that. Anyway, my team and I are going to go in an hour. You uplink the live feed?"  
"That's simple stuff. Sure, I'll take 5 in an hour."  
"Great, thanks."  
  
  
News spread through Moscow fast. So far, over two hundred people had died of what had first been thought to be the cold, or phoneme. Out of the initial 200,a few had been checked for diseases, including Anthrax. When all the tests had come back positive, and order came from the Russian President to test all corpses for Anthrax, Smallpox, and things of the like. They had come back positive for Anthrax.   
Near the office of the Russian President, Seregy Golokov ran into the office, unannounced.  
"What is it, Seregy?" the newly- elected president asked.  
"Troubling news, Sovbar Eduardovich. Citizens all over Russia are being contaminated with Anthrax."  
"Anthrax?" Eduardovich was a stern man, but one who loved the Motherland and her people.  
"Yes. Most likely military grade." Now Sovbar was really concerned.  
"How will this affect us?"  
'Well, we are sending out health warnings all over the country."  
"Is this an act of another country, or a terrorist action?"  
'We believe this is the work of terrorists."  
"I see." Sovbar Eduardovich Volvolna dismissed his cheif advisor, and leaned back in his chair. After a long moment, he called his secretary.  
"Get me the American President." It took a moment, but President Volvolna finally got an answer.  
"Comrade President, President Ryan is ill, and cannot answer your call.  
"Then contact the Vice President."  
  
  
As Ezekiel Thames was talking to Mrs. Price about van Damm's phone call, his office phone rang.  
"This is the Signals Office. The Russian President is on hold."   
'This is not..." The operator did not hear him, and a moment later he heard the voice of President Volvolna.  
"Thames."  
"Hello. This is the Russian President."  
"I know. And?" Don't be rude, dumbass.  
"And I need to speak with you on matters of Russia's national health."  
"Like what?"  
"We have confirmed reports that over 200 people in our country are dying of Anthrax."  
"Anthrax? What in the fuckin' hell..." That's when Zeke got the call- waiting signal.  
"Mr. Volvolna, hold on a minute." Thames pressed the appropriate button.  
"This better be good."  
"Sir, incoming from the Senate..." Zeke once again for a moment, then a voice came on:  
"Mr. Vice President?"  
"Yeah?" It went silent on the other line.  
"Hello, this is Private Rameriez of the CBDC. We're evacuating the Senate building."  
"But why?"  
"Anthrax, sir. It is believed that a terrorist, disguised as a mailman, infiltrated the building, and may have infected three senators. We are, as of right now, issuing an evacuation order to the White House." Thames hung up, forgetting that the Russian President was on hold. Dizzy, he turned to Special Agent Price.  
"We have to evacuate, now."  
  
  
Back in Moscow, president Volvona once again called in Seregy.  
"Yes, My President?"  
"The American Vice President put me on hold, then hung up. Is there any special reason for this?" Golokov sighed.  
"Yes, Comrade President. CNN says that they are evacuating the Senate building, and starting to evacuate the White House."  
"What for?"  
"... Anthrax." Sovbar Eduardovich almost fell out of his chair.  
"My God." 


End file.
